After the Afterparty

I’m being held.

From behind, which is my favorite (I’m a little spoon’s little spoon). His face is firmly in the back of my head, and I’m wondering how he can breathe through all that hair. He’s asleep. I don’t know if he even knows he’s holding me or if it’s just muscle memory. You know, feeling another person next to you and instinctively wrapping around them because it feels good. If I’m being honest, I don’t care either way.

As future bedfellows, I had inquired earlier in the day as to where he fell on cuddling. We both said we landed squarely in the ‘pre- and post-sleeping it’s fine, but back the fuck up off me when it’s nighty night time’ camp. Usually that’s true, for me at least. Not tonight though.

It’s hot as balls in this hotel room. It makes me wonder how people sleep naked. All that skin on skin just gets sweaty. Everyone else in our room is asleep, taking turns snoring and tossing and turning. Whatever. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep. I’m a shitty sleeper normally, but in new places with new people especially. I don’t even mind right now.

See, I never would have asked for this, but it’s exactly what I need right now. It’s 6am after my first play party (the recap of which is most certainly its own post). All of the unabashed sexy sexiness has left me feeling majorly affection starved (not to be confused with feeling attention starved, which I’m definitely not).

While I didn’t engage with anyone at the party, I’ve spent the past 12 hours largely terrified. Of the unknown, of the people around me, of what’s going to happen, of what isn’t going to happen, of what’s already happened. I don’t cope with uncertainty well. I’d been prepped and pep-talked to the nines, though, and somehow made it through.

And now I’m here, at 6am, wide awake and just happy to be held. Touch is very meaningful to me in general, falling second only to verbalization in the ‘ways I feel loved’ department. I’m not reading into this at all, though. It is what it is. I’m just letting myself feel it. Accepting it. Taking it in.

What exactly am I feeling? Safe. Taken care of. Like it’s all going to be ok. Things I don’t frequently feel in my day-to-day. I’m so (emotionally) raw and vulnerable that I don’t have the words for it yet.

I start to feel selfish. Like I’m taking advantage of him and our bed’s limited square footage and our combined ‘not tiny people’-ness. Is non-consentual cuddling a thing? What if he wakes up all like, “Da fuq?” and bolts or gets upset? I quickly calm myself down by telling myself I’m overthinking it (which is totally something I do) and that we’re adults and in the grand scheme of everything that’s gone on this weekend this is seriously no big fucking deal.

It’s a big fucking deal to me, though. I’m keeping still. I don’t want to fuck it up. I take this time to reflect on everything. And there is a fuckton of everything to reflect on. What does all of this mean, for me? For my life? For the people and relationships I already value? Does this change everything? Did I really like it? Holy shit, I actually liked it??

As I’m (slowly) starting to get better at doing, I accept that these answers will eventually come to me regardless of whether or not I choose to obsess over the questions. This doesn’t mean anything, but it means everything. At the conclusion of a surely life-altering whirlwind of new ideas and faces and endless ‘Wait a fuck, this is actually a thing??’ I’m still here. I’m still me. I’m being held. And everything is going to be ok.

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